


Storm in a Tea-Cup

by toesohnoes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Moriarty sit down to discuss John Watson over a nice cup of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm in a Tea-Cup

**Author's Note:**

> Written at my [Tumblr](http://toestastegood-fic.tumblr.com/post/20789542008/they-stare-at-each-other-over-the-rims-of-their).

They stare at each other over the rims of their tea-cups, as precious seconds tick away on the clock. “What do you think would have happened,” Moriarty asks, “if I’d met him first?”

Sherlock doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to, because that’s clear enough. John. It’s always been about John, in one way or another. The game between himself and Moriarty only escalated once John entered the picture. He is the catalyst; the eye of their perfect storm.

“He wouldn’t have ended up on your side. Don’t be obtuse,” Sherlock sneers. “Perhaps if you had manipulated him, lied to him…”

“I do enjoy playing a role,” Moriarty reminds him, with a smile like a shark’s.

“Would it have accomplished anything?”

Moriarty tilts his head thoughtfully to the side. His expression is infuriatingly inscrutable; it makes Sherlock want to text John and tell him to run, get as far away from London as he possibly can. Maybe it wouldn’t help, with the tendrils of Moriarty’s web spanning the entire Earth, but it would be a start. Sherlock sips his tea without being able to taste it.

“He makes you enjoy it more,” Moriarty says after a pause. “Having someone to share it with, someone to look up to you… It must be fun.”

“It has its advantages.” Sherlock won’t think about it in such terms. John is simply there. John would always be there. He can’t examine why. He can’t stop to think about this. John is his friend. He can’t subject that to analysis. “You don’t want friends, surely.”

Moriarty shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. It’s always seemed dull.” He gestures with his half-full tea-cup, and narrowly avoids spilling it over the carpet. “Perhaps it’s time to reconsider.”

“You can’t take him,” Sherlock blurts. He should know better. He needs to remain calm, but his entire body is frozen and solid. The game is out of his control. “It wouldn’t work.”

“We’ll see,” Moriarty says. He places his empty teacup onto his saucer and climbs smoothly to his feet. “You shouldn’t bet something you can’t afford to lose. That’s poor planning.”

It isn’t a bet; this isn’t a game. John has told him that before, but it’s never been quite so clear as in this precise moment. Moriarty leaves with his trademark threat, _I owe you a fall_ , but Sherlock is hardly listening.

He’s losing track of everything.

He is _losing_.


End file.
